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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28285185">The Flowers of the Afternoon</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dee_Moyza/pseuds/Dee_Moyza'>Dee_Moyza</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Transistor (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, Fluff, Post-Canon</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 23:20:50</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,257</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28285185</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dee_Moyza/pseuds/Dee_Moyza</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>After a simple, intimate picnic in the Country, Red finds her creativity rekindled, and her relationship with her lover reaffirmed yet again.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Red/Subject | The Boxer</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The Flowers of the Afternoon</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Written for GoldieClaws, who requested romantic/playful moments between Red and the Boxer in the Country, as a gift for the <a href="https://supergiantsecretsanta.tumblr.com/">Supergiant Secret Santa exchange on Tumblr</a>.  I hope you like it! :)</p><p>  <b>A few more notes:</b></p><p>- The character of the Boxer is named Ward in this fic to correspond with the recipient's stated preference (as mentioned on Tumblr).</p><p>- The Melande sisters mentioned in the story were inspired by <a href="https://venhediss.tumblr.com/post/127354020326/so-apparently-there-actually-used-to-be-a-lot-more">characters that were apparently cut from the final version of Transistor</a>.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Red had built her sandwich carefully, trying not to let the weight of each topping crush those beneath it.  Now, she held the top slice of bread between her index fingers and lowered it, slowly, <em>slowly</em>, just right…</p><p>"You're doing that thing again," Ward said, startling her and causing the bread to fall haphazardly onto the rest of the sandwich.  "With your tongue."  He stuck the tip of his tongue out over his upper lip.</p><p>"I was concentrating."  Red straightened the bread.</p><p>"I know.  And it's adorable."</p><p>Red rolled her eyes, then looked from her sandwich to his.  Despite her best efforts, and Ward's tips, hers still looked flat and sloppy compared to his.  She gestured toward it.  "If you're trying to make me feel better about how mine looks, it's not going to work.  Culinary pursuits were never my forte."</p><p>"As long as it tastes good, though, right?"</p><p>"Right.  Still, yours actually <em>looks</em> appetizing.  How do you do it?"</p><p>He chuckled and began building another one.  "I've had a lot of practice.  Me and sandwiches go way back.  Of course, they were a bit…<em>skimpier</em> in those days.  Making 'em look good seemed to make 'em a bit more filling."</p><p>"Art as necessity?"</p><p>"Pretty much."</p><p>Red reached over and plucked a slice of cucumber off of his current work-in-progress.  "I think it's safe to say that those days are behind you.  I've never seen a pantry as well-stocked as the one in this house!  And with the Melande sisters' deliveries…I'd say we're set."</p><p>The Melandes were a trio of middle-aged women who rumbled up to the farmhouse in their old truck roughly once a week, bearing crates of fresh vegetables, cured meats, and fruit preserves, and rarely asking for anything in return.  When they did, it was usually only a request to borrow tools from the barn for a few days.  They insisted they were not the only other people in the Country, but refused to name anyone else, and kept particularly mum about the mysterious benefactor who left the box of bread and dry goods on the doorstep on a schedule similar to theirs.</p><p>"What magic is there in knowing?" Ruth, the middle sister, asked with a wink.  "But don't worry, once you truly get settled, and learn to make the land work for you, I'm sure you'll start to see others who do the same.  There's no rush.  Enjoy the peace and quiet…and each other."  Another wink.  "You deserve it."</p><p>She scrambled back into the truck and waved as she drove away.</p><p>"Art for art's sake, then," Ward said, pulling Red back into the moment and presenting his second completed sandwich with a flourish.  "A masterpiece, wouldn't you say?"</p><p>"Show-off," Red teased, nudging him with her elbow.  She wrapped the sandwiches and placed them in the wicker basket before her.  "That's everything, right?"</p><p>"Just about."  He picked up a folded blanket from the chair beside him, then walked toward the door and pulled a straw hat off the peg beside it.  He waited for Red to join him, then took the basket from her hand and plopped the hat onto her head as she walked past him.  "You can't just turn off the sun here," he reminded her.</p><p>"I know."  Though sometimes, she did forget.  The biggest adjustment she'd had to make to Country life was the lack of accommodation of her specific needs.  Some days, she still woke up groping for buttons that didn't exist, to open or close the curtains, or brew a pot of coffee, or tell her the weather forecast for the day.  She'd overestimated her hardiness in the sun early on, not realizing how much brighter it shone here, and for how much longer, and thus, ended up with her first sunburn.  There was no way to adjust the intensity or duration of the sunlight, she learned, so <em>she</em> needed to accommodate <em>it</em>.</p><p>In much the same way that Ward learned <em>not</em> to accommodate mosquitos.</p><p>Mistakes and minor discomforts aside, Red found plenty to love about living in the Country.  There was freedom here, a sense of being truly <em>alive</em> that she had never felt in all her years in Cloudbank.  The world around her was not governed by popular vote; it did not care what she thought of it, or what her plans for the day were, as it played itself out on the ebb and flow of natural energies, predictable in pattern, but breathtaking in execution.  It made her feel very small, and nowhere near as central to its workings as she had felt in Cloudbank, but it made her feel so much more a <em>part </em>of them. </p><p>She and Ward picked their way across a field of tall grass, accustomed to but not yet familiar with the uneven ground beneath them, to a small creek flanked by vibrant wildflowers, and a stand of trees along the far bank.    Ward easily stepped over the water, then turned around and extended his hand toward Red.  She considered it for a moment with a mischievous grin, before slipping off her shoes and wading across, shrieking at the shock of cold water against her warm skin and collapsing against him, laughing, when she reached the other side.</p><p>They stayed like that for a while, letting their laughter fade into slow, even breaths, letting their hands roam across one another's backs.  They held onto each other as if, even after weeks together in the Country, they still could not believe the other was really here, that their heart beat so close to their own.  These affirmations of themselves, and of each other, were not uncommon, and this one ended as most did, with Ward kissing Red's cheek and whispering his love to her, and her responding by pressing her palms against his back and pulling him close as hard as she could.</p><p>After they released one another, Ward spread the blanket in the shade of the trees and Red sat down upon it, flinging off her hat, and began to rummage through the contents of the basket.  Though Cloudbank had had parks and small green spaces, none of them were conducive to the idea of a relaxed, intimate picnic.  Often, there were too many people milling about to make a picnic feel anything but wildly out of place; other times, there was an abundance of other, more comfortable places to eat, rendering a picnic impractical.  Here, however, there were no unintended spectators, no distractions, no rush.  The afternoon breeze rustled the leaves and played with the ends of Red's hair and dried the drops of lemonade on her upper lip into a fine, sugary crust.  The sunlight revealed the chocolate highlights in Ward's black hair and cast a play of light and shadow along the muscles of his forearms every time he reached for food or drink.  Somewhere nearby, a bird sang from the branches, and the creek burbled along, cold and clear and soothing.</p><p>The first flower Ward gave Red was a genuine, impromptu gift, a small token of spontaneous affection, tucked behind her ear.  She smiled and patted her hair, modeling it for him as if it were a diamond tiara.  A few minutes later, another flower followed, then another, each one placed higher on her head, until she imagined they looked something like antennae bobbing with her every movement, or a sparse and verdant mane.  She turned toward Ward in time to see him pluck another flower for her hair, and noticed that he wore a lopsided grin, an expression somewhere between concentration and mischief. </p><p>"Having fun?" she asked.</p><p>"You could say that," he replied, gently turning her face forward again to place the flower.  "This was supposed to be a crown, but the flowers sit in your hair so well, you could probably get away with a veil.  Maybe even a whole wig."</p><p>"A wig?"  Red laughed and shook her head, feeling some of the stems sway in her hair, while others went flying. </p><p>"Hey, careful!  You're undoing all my hard work."</p><p>"Hard work?  To what end?  Art for art's sake, again?"</p><p>He chuckled.  "I really don't know.  Just a cure for idle hands, I guess."</p><p>She hiked an eyebrow.  "Well, if that's all you needed," she said, leaning close and looking up at him, "you should know I've got your cure right here."</p><p>He inhaled sharply as her body melded into his, but when he bent his head to kiss her, she pulled a handful of flowers from her hair and placed them into his, mussing it as best she could before he pulled away.  She laughed as she watched him process the abrupt change in the situation, and laughed harder when he simply shrugged and began to meticulously arrange the flowers in his hair.</p><p>"So, what do you think?" he asked her with a straight face.  "Is this a trendsetting look?  High fashion?"</p><p>"Maybe."  She reached up and pulled the flowers from his hair one by one, inching closer to him with each stem removed, until she was sitting in his lap, and tucked the final flower behind her ear.  "But I prefer my down-to-earth guy." </p><p>She traced his features with her thumb and sighed as his hands came to rest at her waist.</p><p>"The one who makes me laugh," she continued.  "The one who's both strong and gentle."  Her lips hovered just shy of his.  "The one I fell in love with.  The one I'll love forever."  She closed her eyes and leaned in.</p><p>"You forgot 'sandwich virtuoso,'" he mumbled against her lips, and smiled as she broke into laughter.</p><p>"Oh, yes, how could I forget?  My <em>sandwich virtuoso</em>."  She pressed her lips to his before he could come up with any more titles for himself, and felt his laughter rumble through her body.<br/>
<br/>
</p>
<hr/><p><br/>
The world around them was bathed in the purple hues of twilight by the time they packed up their picnic, and the flowers of the afternoon lay scattered in the grass, their petals bruised and stems bent.  Red stood and stretched but stopped abruptly when she caught sight of a tiny yellow light nearby, hovering in the air.  Soon, it was joined by another, and another, until the air around her and Ward was filled with small, dancing lights.</p><p>"Fireflies!" Ward said, watching them with a grin.</p><p>"They're beautiful."  Red turned in a full circle, taking in the sight.  "Have you ever seen them before?"</p><p>"No, but Ruth was talking about them last week.  I thought it was some strange folktale, to be honest."</p><p>"They look like stars.  Like stars come down to earth." </p><p>Red and Ward watched the fireflies for a while longer before gathering their belongings and heading back toward the farmhouse.  Halfway there, to the rhythm of the grass crunching underfoot, Red began humming.  It was a new melody, the first she'd come up with since arriving in the Country, and it surprised her with its buoyancy.  It was quick and sprightly, in a sunny major key, and revolved around a repetitive, nascent lyric:</p><p>
  <em>The stars, come down to earth, dancing in the purple dusk.</em>
</p><p>She had little else, at the moment, but this scrap was more than enough to spark her creativity, to rekindle a fire she'd thought lost along with the city she'd known before.  She quickened her pace and began humming louder.  Ward turned toward her, eyes wide, a smile of both relief and amazement crossing his face.</p><p>"A song," he said.  "You've got a new song?"</p><p>Red nodded, still humming, then linked her arm through his and began to sway with each step.  He joined her, awkwardly at first, but as he became familiar with the melody, more confidently, more joyfully.  She relished their shared movement amid the creative stirrings in her mind, and as they approached the farmhouse, she fully broke into song.  It felt so good to sing again, to sing about something new, something beautiful, something <em>real</em>.</p><p>And it felt especially good to sing with him at her side, his warm, strong arm pressing against her own.  He was her partner, her anchor, her light.   She'd taken the biggest risk of her life on the chance that she might end up where he was, and she was going to enjoy every moment that they were together: the flowers of the afternoon and the songs of the evening, the first light of day and cozy rainy days spent inside.  The good-natured mischief and the petty spats and the beautiful hours of making-up that followed; the touches that spoke volumes, and the words that cradled and comforted their hearts.</p><p>She headed straight for the old secretary desk the moment they entered the farmhouse and began scribbling lyrics onto a sheet of blank paper that was beginning to yellow at the edges.  She was lost to the words again, as she had been in a place that felt like it was a lifetime away, and she didn't put down her pen until she was satisfied that she had captured every shade and nuance of what she felt.  She looked up then, to find that darkness had settled in most of the house, and that Ward had stretched on the sofa behind her—to the extent that it could accommodate his large frame—and was now snoring quietly.  When she turned forward again, she caught her reflection in the darkened window before her, and saw several misshapen flowers tucked discreetly into her hair to form a colorful, haphazard diadem.</p><p>And she smiled.</p>
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